BlackBird
by Lady Lenore
Summary: A girl is found on the street raped and beaten. Is she just another junkie, or is there more than her than meets the eye? Very angsty, Munch centraled, Eventual romance. Please R
1. Prologue

**BlackBird**

Disclaimer: I do not own any Law and Order: SVU characters or any Beatles lyrics.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
Take these broken wings and learn to fly  
All your life  
You were only waiting for this moment to arrive  
Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see  
All your life  
You were only waiting for this moment to be free The Beatles_

**Prologue**

The young girl pushed her way through the nighttime traffic of pedestrians. It was a bitter winter night, and she shivered as the cold nipped at her uncovered legs and fingers. She had the ragged look of a vagrant, with mismatched clothing. Her shirt, while faded and worn through, showed the signs of once having been beautiful; it had an intricate floral pattern. She had a ratty glove with the fingers missing, and a plaid torn skirt crusted with what looked like dried blood. Her feet were covered by flip flops. Her greasy black locks were pulled back, showing a face ravaged by hunger and grief. She had large black eyes that would have been considered beautiful if not for the cold lifeless look in them. She was pale and waifish, an ethereal ghost in the fluorescent glare of the city lights. On her ankle was a band similar to a hospital bracelet, but with no break to release it. Gough marks and nicks showed failed attempts to get it off. On the front, in small writing, were the words _Kleppinger Institution Number 1902693_

She had no idea where she was going; all she knew was that she had to put as much distance between her and The Place as possible. Although she could not, or would not, remember what had happened, her befuddled mind linked it with great pain and sadness. All she knew was that she could not go back, not ever. She shivered as a gust of wind blasted through, and it wasn't until then she realized how cold it was. The chill seemed to permeate to her very bones, and in the small part of her that was still logical she knew she had to find shelter, and soon.

She didn't know how long she walked, or in what direction. When the panic finally subsided she was alone in a side alley. The moon was at its zenith; its pale light feebly illuminated the dark alley. She felt her head start to pound; she knew she needed a pill, and now. Taking a small bottle from the folds of her skirts, she popped it open and quickly dry swallowed 2 pills. She had to start watching how many pills she took, the bottle of pills she had pilfered from The Place was running out. Putting her prize back into its resting place, she contemplated what to do next. She knew she couldn't stay out for much longer, she could feel the insanity creeping up on her. Sometimes the fits lasted for weeks or even months, but every time it happened she felt her true self slipping farther and farther.

Stopping suddenly, she felt the small hairs on the back of her neck start to prickle. Her instinct was never wrong; years of needing it to survive had honed it. Turning around, she had only a glimpse of a shadowed hulking figure before her world exploded into colors.


	2. Chapter 1

**Part one: The Raven**

**Chapter 1**

_A/N: Sorry it took so long to update, I had this annoying Spanish project ;;. But now I'm (almost) done so here it is. Oh, and btw I decided that since Poe's works reflect this story I am going to try and post a verse every chapter. Enjoy _

_Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,  
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,  
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,  
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.  
'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, tapping at my chamber door -  
Only this, and nothing more.' Edgar Allen Poe **The Raven**_

**Mercy General Hospital October 3 3:00 am**

Munch walked down the white washed walls of the hospital. Despite his numerous visits to hospitals during his career, he had never quite gotten used to coming here. The stench of antiseptic could not quite mask the smell of the sick and dying, and Munch hurried down the halls into the elevator. Cradling his coffee in one hand, he flipped through the notes he had taken when the doctor briefed him on the phone. She was a Jane Doe, and they could not find any identification on her body. Needle marks on her arms and a bottle of pills in her skirts suggested a junkie, but blood tests will tell eventually. With her ragged clothing she could possibly be homeless. The only thing they found on her besides the pill was an anklet with the name of some sort of institution written on it. It probably was some sort of rehab, but the strange thing was neither he nor the doctor has ever heard of it, and he knew almost all of the public rehab centers in New York City. He doubted it was a private institution; she looked like she could barely afford food let alone an expensive rehab center. He stepped outside the elevator, still lost in thought.

He wove and ducked around the halls effortlessly with the half attention of one who has been there multiple times. Turning a corner he found the room he was looking for. Going inside, he stopped in shock. The room was empty.

The bed was neat and tidy with the blankets folded on top. The room showed no signs of having been used. Walking back outside, he first made sure he had the right room, he had been in situations where he yelled at a nurse and found out it was the wrong room and had no intention of being in that situation again, then headed out towards the front desk.

"I'm looking for a Jane Doe in room _102. _Can you tell me if she was discharged?" He barely kept the impatience out of his voice, and he swore he saw the nurse go extra slow through the files. "Yes, she was discharged about an hour ago. Apparently she was a mental patient of a hospital. I have the address if you want."

**Kleppinger Institution 4:15 am**

The weather seemed to reflect John's mood perfectly, gray and drizzly with no signs of stopping. Stepping out of the car, he dug his hands deeper into his pocket as a gust of chilly air blasted through. Fin, grumbling about getting up at ungodly hours and needing a pay raise, shivered in his jean jacket.

_Kleppinger Institution_ was a large gray monolith of a building that looked more like a dungeon than hospital. It was a square block of cinderblocks, with heavy metal bars barring the windows. The front was an expanse of dirt with patches of scraggly brown grass. The only other form of plant life was a large gnarled tree the color of old ivory. The top branches were blackened and stunted from a past lightning strike. A couple inmates were out, pallid ghosts with dead eyes. Munch shivered. "And you were asking me where the government took all the people in the black helicopters." He said, raising an eyebrow at Fin. Fin merely rolled his eyes and walked up the roughly cut path.

The reception room was gray and drab, with a couple of posters that only succeeded in enhancing the overall wilted look of the room. A woman sat in the front desk, her long red nails tapping away at a keyboard. She looked up irritably at the intrusion, and after a long draft of her cigarette finally called Mr.Kleppinger.

Mr. Kleppinger, or 'doctor Kleppinger' as he liked to be called though he has never been to medical school, was a small greasy man. In fact, everything about him seemed to be greasy, from his insincere smile to his slicked back hair and moustache. Extending his hand, Munch noticed that his hand was shiny from grease, and he surreptiously rubbed his hand on his pants.

He smiled widely, showing crooked yellowing teeth. "Yes, yes detective Munch, we've been expecting you." He said, flashing an insincere smile. "You're here about the girl, yes?"

"_That girl _had a name." Fin started in his usual charming manner, and Munch groaned inwardly. It wouldn't kill him to have some tact; they might need him on their side later.

Something flickered across Kleppingers face, and then vanished. His face darkened. "I believe this is all a misunderstanding. You see, _Marie_" he said, putting emphasis while glaring at Fin "suffers from acute dementia and poryphia. She is a lost case, hooked on drugs and constantly running away. It's not like I don't care about my patients, but I cannot devote all my energy to one patient who's a lost cause, I have other patients who stand a chance in recovering." He was livid now; his face was an ugly shade of red and his eyes bulged out.

Then, as quickly as he got angry he calmed down. Smoothing his hair with his hand he sighed. "Well, I suppose I'll let you go see her. Bernard will escort you to her room. Bernard!"

Bernard was a hulking mass of flesh, with a small beady eye. The other eye was missing, and the gaping socket was covered with a thin film of cloth. He had a tuft of blond hair on his head and a scraggly beard that reached down to his massive chest. Looking at Munch, who looked like a thin stick compared to him, he smiled slowly. Munch held back a wave of revulsion. His teeth were tiny and round, like tiny pearls in a monsters mouth. He felt his hackles rise and in his head an alarm went off. A mix of his natural intuition and his numerous years on the street has given him the ability to size up a person at glance. There was something not right, something dangerous about this man. But he had no choice but to follow him as he started down a corridor.

The corridor was an ugly shade of green, somewhere between puce and pea colored. He stuck in the middle, trying to ward of the screams and moans of the insane. He was unsuccessful. Faces leered out at him as they screamed insults and babbled. After what seemed like an eternity the came to a small door. This one was heavily barred, with an electric lock instead of the usual key lock he saw in the other section. Bernard turned towards them.

"No hard objects and no weapons of any kind." He said, Munch nodded absently, he had been briefed at the car and both he and Fin had left their guns in the car. Somehow it didn't feel right, like a part of him was missing. Taking a small card out of his pocket, Barnard slid it through the lock and pushed the door open.

Taking a deep breath, Munch walked into the nightmare room.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,  
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.  
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow  
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -  
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -  
Nameless here for evermore. Poe, The Raven_

The room was small and bare, with gray walls and a single window barred heavily. A metal bed rested in the corner, and he could see it was bolted to the floor. There was also a desk and chair, also bolted. In the other corner there was a toilet and sink hidden only by a small curtain. But what hit Munch the most was the walls.

Pictures adorned them, each showing a horrifying scene. In one a woman, her mouth twisted in a frozen scream, dominated the page, one eye missing. In the background a sleek raven held up the bloody orb. In another, a bloody bony hand thrust out of the dirt, a raven resting on the grave above. There were other scenes, and Munch noticed that in the raven was a recurring theme in each of them.

Paper and worn down charcoal littered the floor. On the chair a young girl sat, her hair hiding her face from him. Her clothes had been replaced by a stiff white hospital gown, accentuating her thin, sharp features. As the detectives walked in she gave no notice that she had seen them. Her full concentration was given to her art, and her hands flew over the paper. Bernard went and stood in the corner, his eyes never leaving Marie's.

"Her doctor will be here soon." Only his mouth moved, the rest of him was perfectly still. A statue of flesh and bones. Munch nodded.

At the sound of his voice Marie froze. Munch saw her body go rigid, and she looked at them for the first time with cold glittering eyes.

Munch couldn't help but utter a gasp.

"Grace."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you know my grandmother?"

_Grace… _He thought. Grace, with her swaying hips and laughing eyes. Grace, with her mangled body and cold lifeless eyes staring up at him accusingly. God this girl looked just like her. Except her eyes, Grace had laughing sparkling eyes. Marie's eyes looked dead.

"I worked on her case." He said, omitting the fact it had almost cost him his job, not to mention his sanity.

Her hostile gaze never left his, and she reminded him of a coiled snake, tense and ready to strike at the slightest provocation. He wondered what she had been through to become that way. Her peerless depths drew him, and he felt himself sliding away into them…..

"Hello, I'm Dr. Sylvia Argyle, and you must be detective Munch and Fin." A voice said behind them.

Her gaze broke off from him, and he was left with a cold empty feeling. He shivered, and it wasn't because of the draft in the room. He caught Fin staring at him oddly, and raised his eyebrows at him and turned around to meet the doctor.

Dr. Argyle, or 'Sylvie' as she insisted they call her, was a thin, small woman about a head shorter than Munch. She had a foxy face and sparkling green eyes under a shock of red hair. There was a smattering of freckles across her nose, and she spoke with a slight Irish accent. She would not be considered beautiful by most, but with her bright smile and small, almost delicate features Munch thought her quite fetching. Taking her extended hand he smiled, and a glint of something more showed in his eyes. She smiled back, and her eyes exploded into an array gold, greens and even reds. Her face shifted, and for a moment she looked glowing, as if lit from an inside light.

Sylvie smiled at the tall gangly man before her. She thought he looked quite handsome, though he could grow his hair a bit longer. She squeezed his hand gently before letting go. Turning, she caught his partners amused expression before shaking her hand.

"I see you and Marie have some history." She said, speaking to John.

His expression darkened "I worked on her grandmother's case back when I was just starting on the Homicide squad. I was aware she had a daughter, but how did her granddaughter end up here?"

She shook her head sadly "About 15 years ago this woman appeared at our doorstep, about 8 months pregnant with Marie. All she said was that her name was Rose. She suffered from delusions and poryphia, so we took her in. About a year ago she died."

"Does Marie run away often?" Fin interjected, and his gaze was slightly accusing.

"After her mother died, she tried to run away every couple of weeks. She is a cunning girl; she devised many ways of escaping using the barest of materials. Once she managed to escape by jamming the lock with a ballpoint pen and a paper clip left by one of our doctors. Dr. Kleppinger wanted to get rid of her, but she is so sick she can not be left alone on the streets, and no other institution wants to touch her."

"When did she start getting sick?"

"When she was about 11 she started showing signs. Her mother had the same mental problem, and it was probably genetic. She is okay for now, we loaded her with medication, but it will wear off soon…"

As if on cue Marie started shrieking and wailing, and Munch had to keep himself from clapping his hands over his ears in pain. She was rocking back and forth, tears coming out of her eyes. She kept screaming one phase.

"_The Raven is coming for me! Keep me away, save me, because she's **coming** **for me**! _

At this she started thrashing, and Bernard and Sylvie came into action. Grabbing her roughly, he pinned her against him as Sylvie took out a syringe. She plunged it onto Marie's leg. The effect was immediate; she calmed down and lay limp in his arms.

The doctor turned towards them. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you can't interview her now. She has gone into a fit, and who knows when she will come out. It can take hours or days. I will call you when she is fit to interview." She seemed genuinely distressed, and Munch nodded.

Stepping out, he caught a glimpse of Marie as the door was closing. There was nothing insane about those obsidian eyes, and before the doors closed she mouthed two words.

_Help me._


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain  
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;  
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating  
'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -  
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -  
This it is, and nothing more,' Poe_

Munch and Fin strode down the hallway, more than ready to leave. As they came to the main room they were blocked by an elderly woman. She was tall and thin, with a sharp hooked nose and steely hair tied up in a bun. She wore an old fashioned black dress, with the wrists and ankles covered. Her white collar also covered her neck. She looked at them with cold beady eyes. Something about her emanated coldness, glaring down at them Munch had the distinct feeling of a bug about to be quashed beneath a boot. She sniffed as though smelling something unpleasant.

She sneered, showing brown teeth. "What do we have here?" She said, her voice high pitched and nasally. "A dirty little Jew birdie it seems." She chuckled as if what she was saying was funny. She glared at him again "Dirty birdies don't belong here, why don't you crawl back to whatever hell-hole you belong to." She made a deep, throaty sound, and a second later Munch felt something wet and warm plop onto his cheek. Wiping against his cheek, he saw it was spittle tinged with yellow. Fin blanched and lunged at her, but Munch held him back, all while trying himself not to lunge at her. _Stay calm, stay calm _he told himself over and over again, using his teachings over the years and personal experience to help him control himself.

Dr.Kleppinger ran into the hall. "Mother please! Control yourself!" He yelled. Ms.Kleppinger thrashed in his arms, spittle flying everywhere. "I'm so sorry" he said, still managing to look insincere even with his mother thrashing about "she's never been the same since father died, and I don't know how she slipped passed the orderlies…" Dragging his mother, he took her into his office and slammed the door. Munch and Fin traded looks, and Fin handed him a paper towel handed to him by the secretary.

"Let's get out of here before any other mental patients attack us."

Munch nodded his assent and followed Fin out of hell and into the sunlight.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

She sat alone, her hands shaking as the last of the drug coursed through her. She could feel it starting, that mind shattering pain that seemed to consume her whole being as her body craved the sweet release of drugs. She had begged and pleaded for just one pill, but they had refused her. After all she was a bad girl, and she must be punished. Her hands that had moved before with such fluid grace and confidence struggled to complete the portrait before her.

In the portrait a man sat, his eyes covered with a pair of sunglasses. He had a wry smile and a nose slightly too big. His raven colored hair was trimmed close to his head, and behind his shades you could see brown shattered eyes.

In a sudden flash of rage she flung the picture across the room, and screamed her rage and defiance.

No one cared, no one ever cared.

She started weeping bitterly, the tears flowing thick down her cheeks. She wept for the drug she never needed and for the insanity she never had. She wept for the injustices and horrors in her life and the monotonous cycle of drugs and stupors. She wanted that sweet release, that blissful mist that carried her away from the day to day bleakness of life. Because anything was better than this, this shattering lucidity and the awareness it brings; the awareness that she is a shackled bird, chained by drug dependency and steel walls. She contemplated killing herself, releasing into the embrace of the reaper. And then his face flashed in her mind.

He was different, the man with the hidden eyes and guarded soul. He looked at her like no one had looked before, like he gave a damn about her. Looking back, she never remembered anyone who had ever cared. Not even her mother, with her cold eyes and wintry hands, cared about her. Chewing on the end of her tresses, she carefully gathered his face and arranged it on the table.

She lightly touched a tear stained cheek. She was surprised, though she knew what tears were; she had seen many if the other inmates moan and cry. But she herself had never cried herself. Not even when she was beaten, not even when she was in so much pain she felt as if her body was ripping apart. Not even when she was on the floor, begging for a pill. She felt clean, washed out and tired. Crawling into bed, she thought of the detective.

She had to talk to him again.


End file.
